


Tonight, You're Perfect

by croftian (verily_I_write)



Series: Dork Husbands [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags and characters to be added in the future, Nork Weekend, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:50:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2516549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verily_I_write/pseuds/croftian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t like York to be late and not have given North a call or even just a text.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight, You're Perfect

The forecasters had begun calling for snow early in October. Not an unusual occurrence in and of itself, given that this was Alberta, and out of habit most people began pulling out their winter gear in the middle of September anyway. The western province was infamous for it's long, bitterly cold winters (how in the world Wikipedia could claim it was 'mild' was a complete mystery to anyone who had actually lived through a prairie winter), so to hear predictions of flurries not long after Thanksgiving was not exactly unexpected. The temperatures dropped, and dropped some more...and then they began to rise, and rise even more until winter coats were being left on their hooks in favour of light hoodies or no coat at all for the hardy locals. Even in rural communities, where temperatures were cooler than in urban areas, the days were pleasantly warming and even the nights were fair-to-middling, enough so that many residents found themselves keeping their windows open to enjoy the cool breeze that had so eluded them during the sweltering, balmy summer.

At most, people – forecasters included – predicted that the string of warm, sunny days would not last longer than two or three days, perhaps a week, tops. “It never does,” Was the general consensus.

However, much to everyone's surprise (and in most cases, delight), the mild weather remained though the tail end of October, straight through to the end of November. When the warm days finally began to recede, it was chased with the wistful signs of the prairie province's dwellers, and soon thereafter followed by biting cold and cutting wintry gusts. By December, cities and towns were decked out in festive splendor for the coming of the holiday season, trees were erected in public spaces, and holiday specials had begun rolling out across a host of television channels. The stage was set for the most wonderful time of year.

And yet...

~*~*~*~

“There's _still_ no snow!”

“Standing with your face mashed against that window, complaining, isn't going to make the snow come any sooner, Theta. Come help me set the table for supper.”

With a dissatisfied grunt, the white-blond ten year old bounced off of the sofa that was pressed against the living room window, where just moments before, his face had indeed been pressed to the frosted glass panes. The tip of the boy's nose and his forehead were both a chill-bitten, rosy pink from the cold contact, and he rubbed at these numbed areas, nonplussed, as he trudged into the dining room to help his Pop set the dinner table. A glance at the pendulum clock hanging on the wall told him that it was a quarter past six in the evening – not too long before York would come traipsing through the door from his work at the locksmith company he owned jointly with a woman Theta had heard referred to as 'Connie'. He had never met the woman, but from stories his Pop and York told (and from conversations Theta admittedly had snooped in on), the woman sounded a lot like his Aunt South – short-tempered, headstrong, and passionate about her work. Which was good, Theta guessed, as at least York had someone he could gush about locks to. His love of the ancient mechanism was something that weirded Theta out at times, even though it made his Pop laugh.

That was something Theta really appreciated York for, if not for the time he spent playing video games with him, or attempting (and failing, miserably) to show him some tricks his and his Pop's friend, Wash, “Had shown them that one time, you remember, North?”. His Pop hadn't laughed a lot after his Mom asked for a divorce when Theta was seven years old. That York could make the sad man laugh was...nice. Very nice, in fact. Theta was glad that his Pop had married York; their little family of three was well-suited and lacking the tension that his Pop and his Mom's marriage had festered in.

The smell of dinner in the stove permeated throughout the entire house, growing stronger as Theta entered the dining room to find his Pop holding out a stack of plates. “Here, you set the plates, then grab some forks and knives from the drawers. I'm just going to check on the roast and the vegetables. They should both be done in a few minutes.” North disappeared into the kitchen, leaving his son to go about setting the dinner table. Just another evening in the Dakota household.

A few minutes came and went, the dinner was laid out on the table, and North an Theta sat down to wait for York to walk through the front the door. The clock on the wall said that it was nearing twenty to seven – late, even for York. With the roast, potatoes, and vegetables all cooling, father and son proceeded to dig in. They could apologise to York for eating without him, later. It would be a waste to let a good meal go cold. All the while, North felt first annoyance, and then concern pass through him in quick procession. It wasn't like York to be late and not have given North a call or even just a text. The man did his best to shrug the feeling off. His husband likely had gotten caught up in business with a late client and had hit heavy traffic on his way out of the city. Using a cell while driving was illegal and punishable with a fine, so that could account for the lack of a call or text.

When Theta had finished his dinner, North began to clear their dishes and utensils from the table. “Is your homework done, Theta?”

The question was met with a disbelieving, slightly affronted look. “Finished it in class, Dad. Can I go practice some of my skate tricks in the driveway?”

“It's a bit cold out for that...”

“I'll wear layers, then. Please, Pop? I've been working really hard on some new tricks. If I can just nail them before the snow starts to fall...”

A sigh. And then, “Alright, kiddo. Make sure you're wearing those layers. And make sure to get out of the way when York drives in. His turning radius is...not good.” To be honest, North was surprised the man had even obtained his driver's license, given how many near-accidents he avoided on a daily basis.

Theta was executing a clean kick-flip when North's phone rang. The large man had been hunkered down in the corner of the sofa, twisted sideways to watch his son from the living room window (having to wipe the frost from the glass panes multiple times). The sound of his ringtone made him jerk away from the window quickly, relief washing through him as he saw that it was York calling. Finally, he could put his unease to rest.

“Hey, doofus. What's taking you so long to get home? The roast's gone cold and we had to eat without you. Oh, and Theta's in the driveway, so don't hit him on your way in.”

“North, it's me.”

The sound of a voice distinctly female, distinctly _not_ York, made North freeze. “...Connie? Why do you have York's cell?”

“There's...been an accident. I'm with York up at the Regional right now.”

His breath left him in a rush, trembling, and North jumped up from his seat on the sofa. He began tugging his coat out of from the closet, clumsily attempting to pull it on one-handed while still on the phone, “What the hell happened, Connie? Why didn't you call me sooner?”

The woman on the other end could very well be rolling her eyes with all the sarcasm dripping in her next words, “You sure don't dance around the heart of the matter do you? And calm the hell down with whatever you're doing on your end, or you won't hear a word I say.” North ceased his frenzied flailing. “Good, now as I was going to say, one of the key cutters at work went haywire and blew up in York's face. Like, literally just 'boom' and bits of metal everywhere. The damn idiot wasn't even wearing his protective goggles.”

“...Was he cutting with the Belsaw again?”

“Bingo.”

Pictures frames hanging on the wall opposite him rattled and, in some cases, fell off when North's fist slammed against it. “Goddamn him, I've told him to get rid of that relic! It's too old for him to be using it still. Fuck. How bad was it?”

“Well, he still has his hands, at least. Pretty boy's face didn't come out quite unscathed, though. Quite a bit of blood, too, but the doctors won't tell me any else.”

“Alright, well, thanks for calling me, Connie. I'm on my way up right now. And Connie?”

“Yeah, Blondie?”

“Make sure he wears his goddamn goggles next time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a one-shot, schmoopy winter fic for Nork Weekend, but...I have a lot of time to think about things at work, and this has now developed into a multi-chapter fic. I can't say the chapters will be terribly long, I'm still pretty rusty with my writing after having taken a few years off, but I anticipate that they will get longer in the future.


End file.
